abraxaslogs | (open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

Entry tags:

(open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

Who: Altaïr & OTA
What: An Assassin gets a feel for Abraxas; catch-all for the first part of the month
When: Early August
Where: Mostly Cadens

It takes more than a day spent in this strange new world before Altaïr truly accepts that this is not some delusion, a grand vision sent by the Apple or his master from beyond the grave — and even then he can't be fully certain of anything. But he did not survive Al Mualim's phantoms by denying what he sees in front of him, no matter how outlandish.

What is, is, and that means he must respond as an Assassin does. Learn the land. Observe the people. Hide in plain sight.

rooftop parkour;
He'd taken to the roofs almost immediately, and that's not something that changes with the passing of time. Not yet, anyway. It will take a while to learn Cadens as an Assassin truly needs to know it, including all the boltholes and escape routes on multiple levels. He spends at least a couple of hours during each of these early days observing, mapping, and simply free-running for its own sake; it keeps his muscles strong and his skills sharp. He doesn't expect to run into anyone else, and if anyone happens to see him skitter up or down a building ~~like a lizard~~, well, he's not particularly bothered, as long as they're not a guard.

rooftop napping;
Eventually, he has to sleep, but not in the barracks. Altaïr is not under anyone's command and has no intention of allowing himself to be coerced into military service. Instead, having acquired* several linens, pillows and some hay from a nearby stable, he makes a place for himself tucked into a reasonably comfortable spot atop a rooftop, where he's unlikely to be spotted from below.

He's a light sleeper, but in the unlikely event that someone else is inclined to walk the rooftops, a recently liberated** knife rests under his pillow. Hopefully no one wakes up him up while standing too close.

*stolen
**also stolen

library & museum;
If being here has any benefit, it's that he can learn. Once his immediate needs are taken care of, Altaïr makes a point of spending time at both the library and numerous museums. In Cadens, it's not necessary that he take on the guise of a scholar, but if it were he would certainly fit the part; he gathers piles of books, surrounding him at a study table in stacks, and rapidly jots down notes and scribbles sketches at exhibits. It almost seems like the only reason he leaves is because he's kicked out at closing time.

desert;
Having acquired a sword, he's able to borrow a horse from a man who came to the conclusion that anyone who could afford such a fine weapon would clearly be coming into further funds soon. He may or may not be wrong, though Altaïr has every intention of returning his mount; he only wants to venture a little ways into the desert, extending his knowledge of the landscape by no more than a day's ride into the wilds.

Once he's far enough away from Cadens, he's not particularly surprised to hear the sudden sound of other hoofbeats, nor is he bothered by the appearance of bandits, who demand that he dismount his horse and hand over his money. Altaïr could inform them that they've made a poor choice of victim in more than one sense, but instead he smiles and reaches for his new blade.

Should anyone come along, he doesn't truly need the assistance, but they're welcome to join in if they like.

[ooc note - Feel free to tag this in action brackets or prose format, I picked one for the top level but I truly don't care which — I'll match you. Also, for the rooftops prompts, please keep in mind that Altaïr will be moving relatively quietly, so anyone who wants to spot a weirdo doing parkour should be fairly observant/prone to looking up...but he's still a weirdo doing rooftop parkour so it's not that hard to spot him.

If you'd like to try a different scenario, hit me up at my ooc intro/cr meme thread or on plurk at

effervescible!]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Alucard has found himself in need of the wilderness again. It happens after so many days in the city. The pattern is predictable now. Comforting, in it's way. He manages two weeks of being human shaped, working, and interacting with the world. Then it becomes a bit too much and he takes to his wolf or bat forms, and retreats to desert. He has a small space carved out of a natural occurring cave now. Home away from home.

But getting there takes time, and the wind has picked up. Alucard lets out an annoyed noise, the shape of a man becoming a shape of a wolf. Easier to trod over the sand.

It is a great white wolf that sees Altaïr's shape in the desert. It is gold eyes that stare at him, trying to place the man. An unknown face. And for it, there's a soft rrrr? in his direction, the body language of the wolf tensing only slightly.]

Altair isn't the only one seeking answers in this place. After settling in at Mags' place with Jesper and Inej, he's taken to exploring to find out what he needs to know about the future he wants in this place. Already things seem easier. He has a place outside of the barracks to start. Not to mention his buttery soft, black kidskin gloves in place.

The only thing better is the gilded crow's head cane he uses to help with his gait. He may not be in the Barrel and who knows how far away Ketterdam is but he feels already like he's himself once more.

He's been looking for a particular tome, one about the history of war that might give him some answers about just why they're gathering a possible army here when he sees a recognizable face... surrounded by more books than Kaz himself has perused.

He gently raps the crow's head against the spine of one of the books.

"Wouldn't happen to have a history of warfare there, would you?"

[ Cadens' libraries have quickly become a favorite haunt of Claude's. If he'd thought his grandfather's and the Church of Seiros' libraries were begging to have each book read from cover to cover, well. Strangeness of still being in Abraxas aside, the extensive libraries here have to be one of the very good parts of being here.

Today he's trying to track down a volume one of the librarians recommended during one of their chats (possibly more one-sided on Claude's side of things than theirs, necessarily) and he squints at the paper in his hand with the helpful librarian's note of where that book should be. Except he's looked there, and it's definitely not on that specific shelf or anywhere around, so: the plot thickens.

For once he's also not paying complete attention to his surroundings, intent on solving this mystery with all his concentration focused on slowly walking down the length of a massive bookcase. And it works out when Claude finally spots what he's been looking for and reaches for it with a glance back over one shoulder to check for an open table, but the book doesn't seem to want to stay in his hand when there's a slight tug from the opposite direction and he turns to see a man also holding onto it. ]

Oh, uh-- excuse me.

[ Except he means excuse him taking this book because he's not going to let go. What Claude will do is peer curiously at whoever this is until recognition clicks with something he'd witnessed recently. ]

I don't suppose you have a habit of enjoying the variety of rooftops available here, do you? Because I could've sworn I saw someone else while on a couple myself the other night.

[It's possible that these bandits have made a habit of targeting newly Summoned who have dared to exit the protection of Cadens, but if so, they've clearly been lucky enough to rob those who arrived in this world with little way of defending themselves. That's not the case this time.

One of the men is already bleeding on the ground, likely dead after he took the initiative to be the first to attack Altaïr and attempt to incapacitate him. The others have suddenly become much more cautious, fanning out to circle around him. He's outnumbered; he's not worried. Altaïr chooses one and points directly at him, letting intimidation do the work along with his blade as he suddenly charges forward.]

Altaïr is aware of the approaching footsteps, but he's enveloped enough in his current book of choice that he doesn't look up until addressed directly. It's fine — a library is rarely a dangerous location, and he's certain that he would be aware if someone were to stage an attack here.

Besides, he hasn't had time to make anyone angry at him yet.

He smiles when he looks up to see Kaz, or at least approximates a pleasant expression. "That's a broad question," he says. "Are you interested in a specific era, a specific war, or the history of warfare in general?"

[It's very tempting to keep a firm grip on the book and elbow past the other man. He's not particularly concerned with being rude, and he does want to at least skim through this tome (along with the not-inconsiderable collection he'd previously amassed.) Whoever this is can wait until Altaïr is done, whenever that might be.

The unexpected recognition is enough, however, to surprise him and loosen his grip. The newcomer gets the book.]

If that's how you'd put it.

[It's not wrong, exactly. There were a variety of rooftops, and he had enjoyed pushing himself.]

Is there a reason I should not have?

[There are many, actually, but that doesn't mean he has to acknowledge them.]

[Oh. It's one of these things, is it?

Alucard doesn't recognize the bandits, but the motive is obvious enough. There are plenty of those who stray off and get lost from the known, safe routes in the desert. All the better if they're a part of a caravan and carrying coin or goods.

The whole thing is tiresome, the violence not worth any of it. He doesn't step in as Altaïr charges. In fact, Alucard's wolf form stays still until one of the other would be bandits makes a move.

At that point, there's a great howl from the wolf. Piercing, much too loud, far too close. The last part should register. Should scatter those that remain.]

[The whole encounter is really lifting Altaïr's mood the longer it goes on, because if he has nothing familiar in this world, at least he has his skills. He can even feel a grin on his face — before the cry of a wild animal cuts through the air.

He and the surviving bandits pivot as one to face the beast. Altaïr's eyes widen slightly, but that's all the reaction he'll show. The lead bandit, however, turns pale and swears, then shouts for his men to get back on their horses and ride. Where? Away, it seems, is all that matters.

Altaïr stands his ground but does not lower his sword. He doesn't recognize the type of creature this is, but he'd rather face it head-on and fight for his life than potentially have it leap upon his back.]

[The wolf tilts it's head for just a moment more, and then lets out a snuffle that from a set of human vocal chords, might be a sigh. The eternal debate - stay a wolf and keep the skill hidden vs. keep on in the form - plays out again.

Alucard considers the weapon and the skill he just saw on display. That's his answer. And so, as much as he hates it, the wolf shrugs, transforming back into a man as if this is a completely normal act.]

I've no intent to take whatever you have on your person, you can lower the weapon.

["Slightly widened eyes" escalate to "slightly widened eyes and a look of mild alarm." Which is the equivalent of a much more shocked expression on anyone not accustomed to tightly controlling their reactions.

Altaïr absolute does not lower his weapon; nor does he move to attack. His grip on the hilt tightens and he takes half a step back, but it's more for potential leverage than anything. His gaze darts from the man to the empty space behind him, as if he's half-expecting the wolf to still be there.]

Are you a man who took the form of a beast or a beast in the guise of a man?

The former.

[Alucard's tone is calm and reserved, and he holds himself with a certain level of aloofness that suggests every part of this is totally normal thank you very much. He's used to the surprise once someone sees the transformation.

If he's threatened by the blade, Alucard absolutely doesn't show it. He's nearly ignoring it with a confidence he knows is entirely founded.]

Pick one group of them off and another will just take their place, you know.

[ Just in case, Claude's quick to move the book further into his personal space though he pauses with it at his side at the first comment. It nearly gets a laugh from him, if only because it's the kind of nonchalant brushoff he's quite familiar with giving someone else. That's probably also why he's unbothered by it and the question following it which just gets a shrug of one shoulder from him. ]

Oh, there's probably some guards around who could come up with more than a few reasons they don't want anyone roaming around up there. But considering I'm on them now and again myself, I can't say I'm very interested in knowing what they are.

[ Meant in a way that suggests he's not about to tell anyone about the other man's adventures up there if the sentiment's mutual, and, well. He did 'win' the (not) book fight, so it seems only fair to offer something up in return for it - mostly because if the answer to what he has to ask is no what with the ways up to it being concealed to most it'll be all the better. ]

Have you been to the roof of this library yet? By getting up there from inside, that is, because there's more to it than just the path to the roof alone.

There are two types of hunting: monsters and dinner. Geralt is in the desert for the latter. True, Jaskier can afford to purchase their household whatever they wish, from meat to exotic fruits. Equally true: Geralt can as well. To a lesser degree, anyhow. Contracts are a bit more lucrative in this world. But he's lived a certain way for decades; it's how he prefers to carry on whether he needs to or not.

The boar has been slung over his horse. Geralt is not currently riding her, instead leading the mare along at a steady, unhurried pace. Unusual, perhaps, since the sun is setting—but unlike most, he travels fine at night. Prefers it, in fact, to avoid the sweltering summer heat. He isn't visibly armed nor geared: the only thing on him is a light cloak to keep out the dust. His sword is tucked against the side of Roach's saddle.

Only when he hears the horses, the voices, the sound of steel does he pause.

Bandits are hardly a new sight. They concern him little; Geralt leaves them alone, and they do so in return. They have easier pickings than a man who travels with a sword and occasionally a severed monster head. And it isn't his job to guard the roads from roaming brigands. That's what the soldiers are for. So this—the commotion. He's no desire to be involved. It isn't his business, for one. For another? He can't even tell who's the actual prey here. Not the lone stranger, clearly.

But as is often the case when Geralt least wants to be involved, life has other plans. He starts towards another path, intent on skirting past the fight, and promptly runs into a straggler from the crew. On watch or late to the party, he doesn't fucking know and it hardly matters when he's sent sprawling in the rocky ground. He snatches the dagger from his boot in a flash, slams the blade into the woman's throat, and snaps his attention up in time to meet the stranger's gaze from across the dusty field.

Mm. Well. Here they are. Just two men with bloody knives in their grasp and some bodies. This is not quite how he wanted to end his day. Should he wave?

Perhaps not.

Edited (sorry for constant typos) 2022-08-11 22:12 (UTC)

Honestly, Diana doesn't spend much time on the rooftops of Cadens. She prefers to be among the people when she's in the city, walking her usual unofficial patrol routes and helping out anyone who happens to need a hand. It's during one of these late afternoon rounds that she happens to see a shadow that seems out of place, to say the least. Keen eyes dart upwards, and she sees a man running across the roofs, quick and nimble, as if he were born to it. She's impressed with his agility, and her eyes track him as he moves, though it's clear he means to remain hidden.

Impressed, and now curious.

She sees him again, just once or twice, over the next few days. She decides to see if she can catch up to him, to ask him what he's even doing up there. He never seems to be holding anything of note, so it isn't as if he's transporting goods up there so he can avoid the foot traffic on the ground. She leaps to the top of one of the buildings where she's seen him before, and wanders across the roofs for a little while, wondering where he might be.

When she finds him, it's entirely by accident.

She leaps from the top of the next building over, a few stories taller than the one he's resting on. She doesn't do any kind of fancy tuck-and-roll maneuver, instead just landing in a slightly crouched position, pleased when nothing beneath her cracks or splinters from the impact. She's getting better at controlling the shock of her landings. She looks up and spots him, distinctly not a part of the rooftop, and her eyes go a little wide whether or not he's already up on his feet. She straightens, still sounding surprised, but also a little pleased with herself

"Oh, I found you!"

Edited 2022-08-12 00:18 (UTC)

Altaïr is mildly disappointed when the fight ends. The disappointment stays mild because it's far outweighed by the satisfaction of it. He may not murder indiscriminately, but there's something infinitely satisfying in the rhythm of combat and the clash of swords, the rush of dodging a strike. These bandits are hardly the best he's faced, but they're good enough for now. No doubt they've regretted their choice of target — briefly.

As the battle dies down, he hears the quiet sound of a nearby scramble in the sandy dirt, then the very recognizable sound of someone choking on their own blood. Altaïr lets the last of his opponents slide off his blade and lets his grin slide off his face as he snaps his head up to meet a stranger's gaze.

Well. This is unexpected. He shifts his sight, nodding slightly at what it reveals. Not a friend, but not an enemy, either. Perhaps someone who simply ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe the right one.

Altaïr raises his free hand in greeting. "Safety and peace to you."

Altaïr is a light sleeper by nurture and by training, to the point that it may as well also be by nature after so many years. Even in the safety is Masyaf's walls, he wakes easily, because the dangers outside their fortress are so many. He woke up many times his first night or two here as he acclimated to the sounds, gained a better sense of the city.

He hasn't slept in the same place twice, but this is perhaps the best of the little nooks he's identified. If he doesn't sleep deeply, he at least sleeps deeper, immune to the late afternoon light. A city cannot but known only in the day, so he'd spent all of the previous night taking its measure. He'd gone to rest as the sun peaked over the horizon, satisfied, and dreamed pleasant dreams he won't recall after waking.

When it happens, it's sudden and it's violent — at least in his perception. There's a powerful jolt, and his hand plunges beneath the cushion to grab his knife before he can consciously think about the cause. In an instant, he's leapt to his feet, taking a defensive posture against the threat — a woman, he realizes with some surprise. (Not as much as he would have felt before meeting de Sablé's stand-in.)

"What do you want?"

[Without revealing he's doing more than taking a hard look at the wolf/man, Altaïr shifts to his other sight...and relaxes, a little. He does lower the blade, though he doesn't sheathe it yet.]

It wasn't my decision to do so. They sought money and chose a target.

[He flicks some of the blood off his sword. It'll need cleaning later.]

Poorly.

Well, the last part is rather self evident.

[There's a scant glance at the blood that rests on sand now. From what Alucard observed, the other man is quick with his weapon. Effective. Which means training in some fashion, likely for a good, long while.]

Are you wandering off of the established paths in the desert on purpose, or are you in need of redirection?

[That draws a small smile to Altaïr's lips. (The loss of the book is...fine. There are others, and he can probably find it again later. Or punch the man, take it and run, but that seems counterproductive.)]

A guard who can't be bothered to look up now and again has no business acting in a position of authority.

[It's shocking how many don't. Most, in his experience.]

I haven't gone beyond the stacks here, though. It's not often I have the chance to explore a library such as this.

Perhaps its not the answer he's expecting, but it's one that he seems to like if his look is any indication. Nodding at that, running a gloved finger along the length of one spine, considering the title.

"A history of it, mostly. Here and not in general. I'm mostly looking for an idea of what the war is they expect us to fight for them."

He gives the man a considering look. "Did you except their offer?"

Altaïr nods for him to go ahead and take that book, then seeks out another from his ever-increasing stack to slide over.

"I haven't done more than skim this one yet, but it may be what you're looking for," he says. "And no. They failed to provide a more compelling argument than the one I received upon arrival. What about you?"

He's pretty sure he can guess.

Geralt looks at the other man for another while. The wariness in him is more precautionary than anything. The kind that comes with, say. Meeting an armed stranger in the midst of a bloody fight.

Eventually, he stands, stepping over the body. "I think peace left some time ago."

Right around the first slit throat, specifically. He takes a breath. Where's his horse? He just wanted to bring back some damn supper. And while normally he'd leave the bodies where they were, tensions in Cadens means he's a little more careful. Especially as, unlike the Continent, he cannot simply ride off into another village.

Without a word, he slings the body on the ground over his shoulder. He tips his head—an invitation for the man to follow if he wants. Or not. It isn't his problem how the other wishes to deal with his set of dead bandits. But the upside of hunting as often as he does in the desert?

He knows where all the hungry beasts nest. Makes for a simple way to rid of bodies that'll not be looked at closely. It isn't as though the military gives a fuck about a few missing thieves.

[ That comment about the guards gets a barely choked back laugh from Claude since, well - it's accurate. Luckily for them, it seems to describe a good number of the ones he's noticed while going on some rooftop walks himself. ]

Most of the ones stationed around the main streets are rather questionable at best by that metric. Though maybe it works out well for us that pegasi and wyverns aren't common here like there are where I'm from considering we'd run into more issues with extra sets of eyes in the sky.

[ Not that there's probably not some form of it already, given what he's heard from others now and then, but fortunately they don't seem to care too much about Summoned roaming the rooftops. Also, Claude's totally just going to assume the other man has those same animals around even if he's learned (several times over) that's not the case for anyone other than him and his recently arrived friends. ]

It's true that this library - and all the other ones - are plenty distracting all on their own. This is the only one I've found that has unlocked access to the roof through a hallway back behind the cartography section. Extra helpful if you bring the book of Cadens maps that's normally unused up there with you for a little added comparison's sake.

His lips twitch into a smirk at the comment. It's not inaccurate, but then he's never been concerned with offering either to those who come at him with weapons. The bandits made their choice.

Altaïr remains still for a moment, curious, but quickly catches on to the meaning of the other man's actions. So it seems that leaving the foolish dead where they fell is not the thing to do in this world. He whistles for his own borrowed horse, which kept its distance from the fight but is still within eyesight. He'd rather not haul bodies himself, one at a time.

"I take it there are those who might take offense that we defended ourselves," he says. Well, one of them did, and he's not about to probe the particulars of the man's arrival on the scene.

The notion is strange to him; it's possible that the bandits have comrades in arms, but he's rarely seen loyalty among thieves, and he can't think of a good reason for the Cadens military to care. But he's new here, and intends to keep both his neck and his freedom, so he'll do what needs to be done.

He's quick to wake--and to brandish a weapon. That tells her two things about him: he is clearly a warrior, and he isn't used to being woken suddenly. She feels a little bad for having roused him from his sleep, but a tiny bit less so because he's pulled a knife on her and has yet to put it down though in her mind, she's done nothing to warrant such a threat. Her brows raise just so, and her head tilts to one side, curious. Considering.

"I saw you on the rooftops the other day." Her tone is perfectly conversational, though she's shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, and left her hands loose at her sides. Non-threatening, but still a defensive pose. She doesn't seem at all worried by the blade in his hand. "Your skill was impressive, and I was curious about what you were doing up here."

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 5

(open) a million miles from home, I'm walking ahead

Desert

Library

library!

no subject

no subject

what a lovely meet-cute

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

and knives optional! (for now)

desert;

rooftop napping!

no subject

I love her so much

no subject

no subject

just give it time

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

c: